


The Project Gabriel Affair

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Napoleon face separation</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Project Gabriel Affair

Somewhere in London…

 

 ”Nobody does it better,” thought Illya, lazily giving into a moment of pride as Napoleon with his customary confident informality briefed the small group of agents on their recently completed mission.

They were crowded into a tiny office beneath the antiquarian book shop which was the front for UNCLE London.  Napoleon stood with one hand in his pocket and the other resting on the desk.  Dark, suave, sort of Cary Grantish, he had the undivided attention of each agent without really trying. 

”So, gentleman and,” with a slight bow to Agent Amina Patel. “Lady, that's where we are.  THRUSH London is liquidated and our task now is to go through each file, record and weird-ass piece of equipment.  London was always a research nerve-centre for THRUSH and it is likely that we will learn an enormous amount about their past and present projects.  Perhaps even enough to shut THRUSH down for good.”  He leaned, rather seductively Illya thought, against a grey metal filing cabinet. 

”We all know what we have to do.  I’ll take the strategic side.  Jacobs you’re in charge of the weapons detail, Smith and Enright on engineering and other inventions.  Illya and Amina you’re on test-tube duty.  They seem to have been conducting an extraordinary amount of experiments down there on the docks.  Mr Waverly will be here soon and of course we report directly to him.” 

Finally, Napoleon smiled the smile that always made Illya melt.  “It’s getting late so let’s call it a day and start fresh tomorrow.  Good work everyone and by the way, Merry Christmas.”  They had all forgotten it was Christmas day; it had passed in such a hale of bullets and broken glass. 

”And what’s more, he’s all mine,” thought Illya as he watched Napoleon finish up and close his file.  When none but the two of them remained in the room Illya sat back in his chair and yawned. 

”Was I keeping you up?” demanded his partner. 

”I was simply wondering whether you would ever stop talking.” 

”Why?  You got somewhere you have to be?” 

”Of course,” said Illya standing and heading for the door.  Napoleon in a swift movement overtook him and pushed the door closed, leaning against it to block Illya’s exit. 

”Where’s that then?” Napoleon asked pulling Illya close and trailing a finger underneath his thin black tie, searching for a shirt button to ease open so that his finger could explore further. 

Illya looked sharply at him, always nervous of expressions of affection during business hours.  But he saw that no one could come into the room and relaxed. 

”Well I don’t know about you but I want a shower and my bed.” 

”I see,” Napoleon found one of Illya’s nipples and caressed it lightly.  Then he travelled to the other side and did the same to the other one.  “Care for some company?” 

This mission had involved a fortnight of round-the-clock surveillance.  Constantly on-call and under the gaze of their fellow agents, they had had no time for one another.  Waking in empty beds on chilly London mornings they had felt the loss of one another as a hungry longing. 

Illya sighed, withdrawing the wandering hand from under his shirt and holding it in his own. 

”Are you sure, Napoleon?  Amina is just next door.” 

”Have a bit of faith in me,” Napoleon smiled.  “I am supposed to be a secret agent, you know.” 

”I do know.  Very secret.  This morning you set off three alarms and a booby trap abseiling through a window.” 

Napoleon took the stubborn face in both his hands and kissed its lips. “OK I see what you mean.  Not Plan A in that case.” 

Illya looked up into his lover’s eyes almost shyly.  “All right,” he said smiling his rare half-smile.  “What are you waiting for then?” 

”Good decision, Mr Kuryakin.  I’ll get my jacket.” 

The grey jacket lay over a chair and Napoleon would have reached over to get it but Illya astonished him by picking it up first and gently helping him on with it. 

In the year that they had been together as lovers they had fallen into comfortable roles.  Illya was typically reticent, sparing in both word and action whilst Napoleon was naturally more open and physical and would often take the lead.  But occasionally Illya would express his feelings in some tender, intimate action that would simply leave his partner reeling with love for him. 

Illya, having adjusted the jacket to his satisfaction, turned Napoleon to face him and allowed himself to become engulfed in his arms and to be kissed as a promise of things to come. 

It was only when Napoleon had released him that they realised someone had come into the room.

 

Act one 

Regulation 875.  You hum it, I’ll play it

Mr Waverly was surprised.  In fact, if he had not temporarily lost the power of speech, he would have gone so far as to say he had never been so surprised.  Not since Pearl Harbour in any event. 

Mr Waverly knew lots of secrets.  That was his job after all.  But he hadn’t suspected this one.  He put down his travelling case and took off his hat and overcoat.  Then he closed the door of the shabby little office.  All the while his two agents, his top team, watched him unmoving. 

He had known that they cared for one another.  That was obvious and not unusual in this type of work.  You went through hell and highwater with someone, you became close to them.  He sat behind the battered government-issue desk and wondered briefly what on earth highwater was. 

He watched them both turn to face him.  The tall dark one, the compact blond one.  The womaniser, the introvert.  The adventurer, the intellectual.  No, he hadn’t had the slightest inkling of this. 

After all if he had he would have had no choice but to end both their careers.  As he had no choice now. 

”Please gentlemen, sit down.”  Neither moved.  He gestured at two of the chairs. “Napoleon, Illya, sit down.” 

The use of their first names was shocking to Napoleon.  He didn’t believe he had ever heard Mr Waverly address him in this way and it made him realise how serious the situation was.  He watched Illya stiffly take a seat and then did so himself.  Sitting down was just sitting down after all.  If he was going to get canned he might as well sit down to get canned. 

”How long has this been going on?”  Mr Waverly asked.  Napoleon looked at Illya.  He was utterly still, impossible to read.  Neither replied.  “Gentlemen, how long?” 

Napoleon remained silent.  He was perfectly happy to shout from the rooftops about his love for Illya, whatever the consequences, but he felt it should be the decision of his diffident partner whether they told the truth or tried to cover up. 

”One year sir,” replied Illya finally. 

One year.  Napoleon recalled in snapshot the day after last Christmas when snow covered the New York City rooftops and Illya had first taken him into his bed.  For Napoleon, it hadn’t been an easy adjustment to make.  There had been ill-fated flings with different women, not to mention almost losing Illya to Vulcan before he finally came to terms with the wonder of it all.  But that morning after Christmas had been the beginning. 

”Indeed? A whole year?”  Mr Waverly was evidently surprised at this news. “Then I can’t say it has affected your performance can I?  You’ve both done excellent work this year.” 

Neither answered and Mr Waverly continued.  “However, as UNCLE operatives your private lives are not your own.  You are both aware, I take it, of Regulation 875?” 

Were they ever.  They knew that one by heart.  It used some fancy language but it came down to this.  Evidence of homosexual practices by any UNCLE agent would be examined by the equivalent of an army court martial and if proved could lead to dishonourable discharge.  In practice UNCLE hadn't much time for such niceties and agents had been allowed or rather invited to resign.  It was more civilised than being left alone with a loaded gun, but not much. 

Napoleon suddenly felt the exhaustion of the past fortnight overwhelm him. 

”What are you going to do sir?”  He asked wearily.  Mr Waverly looked at his second-in-command. 

”I’m going to think about it, Mr Solo.  In the meantime you are both suspended from all duties.”  He picked up a file from the desk and then put it down again.  It was the only sign he had given of his own discomfort.  “You can go.” 

....

Napoleon and Illya walked together through dark Bloomsbury streets toward the hotel.  It was a quiet Christmas night and they passed no one on their way. 

”Illya say something.”  Napoleon said mildly.  For some reason he expected heat of the moment anger and defensiveness, even accusations from Illya and wanted to get it over with.  Instead Illya spoke softly. 

”Do you understand Napoleon that this is the end for us?”  Napoleon stopped.  He didn’t understand.  Not at all.  Illya stopped as well and faced him. 

”I will leave UNCLE.  With me gone Mr Waverly will find it easier to allow you to stay.  In fact I am sure he will agree to it.” 

”No way,” said Napoleon firmly.  “If you’re gone, I’m gone.  What’s UNCLE to me without you?” 

”Napoleon,” Illya said gently.  “This is not the time for romantic gestures.  You must know that I am only able to stay in the West because I am with UNCLE.” 

Napoleon froze, genuinely shocked for the first time at Illya’s patient explanation. 

”My God, Illya.  You’d go back to the USSR?  You’d do that for me?” 

”Of course.  There’s no choice.” 

”No, there is.  We can do this the other way round.  I’ll resign.  After all, I’ve done it before.  Waverly doesn’t want to lose a hotshot like you.” 

”Over his number one operative?  Be serious.” 

”Dammit Illya.  We’re going to sort this out.” 

Illya bit his lip and put his arm around his friend.  “Let’s go back, love.  We may not have much time left.” 

….

The hotel, named the Endymion after the eternally sleeping shepherd, was a rambling Georgian house of echoing pipes and peeling wallpaper, meandering corridors and unexpected dead ends. 

When they arrived Amina Patel was sitting on an oversized armchair in the tiny guest lounge just by the front door.  Her long pyjama'd legs curled under her and her jet black hair, newly washed, hung around her shoulders.  She was leafing through a magazine and listening to the gentle murmur of the World Service from the manager’s office. 

”Hi guys,” she called after them and shrugged when neither replied.  She turned another page and pondered, not for the first time, on the subject of why all the best men were gay. 

 

Act two

The day after Christmas (again)

 

The thought that it might be sensible to spend the night apart occurred to neither agent. 

After undressing one another and sharing a scorching shower delivered by irritable prewar plumbing they made urgent passionate love in Illya’s bed.  Then they fell deeply and dreamlessly asleep, holding hands like children. 

The next morning Napoleon slept and Illya wrote a letter to Mr Waverly offering his resignation and appealing for his partner’s job.  He gave the letter to Amina to deliver and then, slipped back into bed where Napoleon’s body sought his even in sleep. 

They slept late and then with nothing else to do and a vague notion of somehow marking what was, after all, their anniversary, they set out on a pleasant but futile mission to find something open.  It was a public holiday and this sure wasn’t New York City. 

Although it was cold it was a bright day and they walked the length of Tottenham Court Road before exploring the pretty Georgian terraces around the British Museum, the green overgrown squares, ancient churches and elegant red brick mansion blocks.  Finally when it looked like it was about to rain, they ordered lunch in a pub across the road from the Endymion. 

Neither could manage more than a couple of mouthfuls of food but they drank beers and Napoleon bought a packet of cigarettes.  He lit one for himself and one for Illya and they watched the swirls of smoke rising and mingling before vanishing. 

”Did you resign today?”  Napoleon asked finally and when Illya did not reply he said.  “I won’t have you doing that for me.  I won’t allow it.” 

Illya appeared startled by the force in Napoleon’s words.  “I’ll be all right my friend.  So will you.  You know you will.” 

”Without you?  No.  I won’t be all right.”  Napoleon spoke in a low voice.  “I know that you don’t believe this.  And I don’t know how I can get you to, but you are absolutely essential to me.” 

Napoleon looked at Illya and it was clear from his expression he didn’t believe him.  This solitary man had emerged from a solitary life believing he was essential to nobody. 

For some peculiar English reason the pub suddenly closed and they crossed back to the hotel as arrows of rain began to darken the sky.

… 

Mr Waverly and Amina were in the guest lounge awaiting their return.  Mr Waverly sitting in an armchair leaned slightly forward on the cane handle of a long black umbrella.  Amina, perched on the arm of the chair, stood as Napoleon and Illya came in.  Unexpectedly Mr Waverly said “Miss Patel has made an alarming discovery at THRUSH headquarters today.” 

Napoleon could honestly say he had completely forgotten about the mission that had consumed the last two weeks of his life.  He watched Illya cross the room and sit in an armchair.  He looked beautiful in his black jeans, polo neck and long leather jacket.  Nothing else really mattered. 

Mr Waverly made another attempt at gaining his agents’ attention.  “I’ll ask Miss Patel to explain, if I may.” 

When he finally was able to tear his gaze away from Illya Napoleon noticed that Amina appeared uncomfortable.  This was unusual.  The women agents at UNCLE had to be able to present a cool and confident exterior, more so even than the men.  Amina, he was certain, had a cool and confident interior to go with it.  Growing up on the streets of Karachi she was tough, self assured and smarter than most.  Today in a dress apparently made out of some kind of elastic and long leather boots she was practically unearthly.  Still, uncomfortable she undoubtedly was. 

”I’ve been checking the science division files guys,” she began.  “It was pretty much what I expected.  They’ve been working on different kinds of knockout gasses, truth drugs.  You know, the usual.  But there was one other project that you need to know about. 

”Napoleon.  You remember just over year ago, at the beginning of December you were THRUSH’s prisoner in Tokyo?”  Napoleon nodded.  It was such a regular occurrence he hardly remembered.  “Well, there is a record that while you were there you were the subject of an experiment.” 

Napoleon shrugged.  “They had me knocked out the whole time I was there.  They could have done pretty much anything they wanted.  But I was checked out once I got out and the docs never found anything.” 

”Well,” Amina began cautiously.  “They didn’t know what to look for.” 

”What should they have looked for?”  Illya asked. 

Amina glanced at him and then at Mr Waverly who had his attention focussed on a patch of carpet.  Then she continued to address Napoleon. 

”The records indicate that you were given a complicated combination of chemicals called Project Gabriel.  It was a drug which was designed to make you sexually interested in people of the same sex.” 

He looked questioningly at her, turning over the information and slowly comprehending her words. 

”They gave me a drug to make me homosexual?” 

Amina nodded.  ”That was the idea.  It was probably designed to affect the morale of men in combat.  And it was pretty powerful stuff by the looks of it.” 

”But that’s ridiculous.  I’ve never heard such rubbish.” 

”Well possibly, I suppose only you know if it worked.  But there is evidence in the file that it had some rather impressive effects on a couple of cats they tried it on.  You seem to be the only human though.  The project was abandoned after UNCLE disposed of the scientist in charge of it.”  Amina ignored the stricken look on Napoleon’s face and continued.  “There was an antidote in with the Project Gabriel samples we found.  The labs are checking it out now to make sure there’s nothing harmful in it but it should be ready in a few hours.”  She looked at Illya.  “If you want an antidote that is.”  Mr Waverly got to his feet. 

”Of course he will take the antidote.  There is no question about that.  Goodness me, no question at all.”  His voice held an unusually inflexible quality.  He turned to Illya who was, if possible, looking worse than Napoleon.  “Mr Kuryakin.  I received your letter this morning and I am happy to be able to refuse your resignation.  Now that the circumstances have altered.”  Then he turned to Amina.  “Come Miss Patel we have work to do.”  And he escorted her out of the hotel. 

Neither agent moved for a while until Illya quietly spoke.  “Well that explains it,” he said before getting up and following the other two out of the house.

 

Act three 

An antidote to Illya

Napoleon realised that his grip on his emotions was slipping and he went up to his room.  There he spent an unhappy couple of hours pacing the tiny floor space trying to determine the truth of what he had learned. 

He could not deny that it was on his return from Tokyo that he began to be overwhelmed by his feelings for Illya.  It was then that they came brimming and bubbling joyfully from every pore. 

On the other hand he firmly believed that he had always at some level had those feelings.  He remembered the first time he set eyes on Illya all those years ago in Mr Waverly’s office.  Even then, he had been utterly captured by the unswerving cornflower gaze, feline poise and acid wit.  Immediately responding in ways he had not understood to the vulnerability beneath the Russian ice. 

His thoughts darkened.  Should he then conclude that his relationship, if not his love, for Illya was the result of a THRUSH experiment and therefore something bad that ought to be reversed?  Had it been the indirect cause of his present suspension and the risk of losing his career?  And would this experiment bring Illya down too?  Resignation from UNCLE and a return to the Soviet Union in disgrace would mean an uncertain and dangerous future for his friend.  If he believed these things he must take the antidote. 

His eye fell on a portrait of Artemis and Endymion which hung behind fly spotted glass on the wall.  Artemis kissed the sleeping shepherd’s upturned face.  The shepherd who had chosen eternal dreamless sleep as a merciful end to his ceaseless quest for the goddess.  And if he made his choice and took the antidote, which lets face it, was an antidote to Illya, it would be a betrayal of his own love.  Even if it had no effect, he would lose him.  It would convince the proud Russian that he somehow wished to be free of him. 

And, worse, what if it did work?  What if he woke in the morning with no longing for his golden treasure?  What on earth would be the benefit in that? 

He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands.  His thoughts clarified themselves.  Take the antidote and they would keep their jobs and lose eachother.  Don’t take it and he would be condemning Illya to deportation.  Illya had been prepared to sacrifice himself for him.  Would he now have the same courage?  Exhausted he lay down and was quickly asleep. 

When he woke it was dark and a steady rain pounded at the window.  Glancing at his watch he saw that it was almost 10.30.  He left his room and tapped on Illya’s door.  There was no answer.  He put on a jacket and borrowed an umbrella from the hotel manager. 

He thought he might find Illya in the pub across the road and when he pushed open the door he immediately spotted his fair hair through the crowd.  He was in a group with all the other agents, except Amina.  He made his way to the table and when Illya finally faced him he saw his eyes were glazed, a sure sign that his friend was drunk.  Jacobs said, 

”Napoleon.  Have you come to take Illya home?  He had quite a head start on us.” 

”Sure, if you like,” Napoleon replied, careful not to sound proprietorial. 

Illya looked for a moment as if he was going to object but then he began an apparently complicated process of finishing his last vodka, standing up and finding the sleeves of his jacket.  Napoleon did not trust himself not to go to his aid. 

”I’ll wait outside,” he said making his way back to the door and out onto the rain soaked pavement.  Eventually Illya joined him under the shelter of the large umbrella. 

”Hi,” he said putting his hands in various of Napoleon’s pockets until he found the cigarettes.  Taking one out he gave it to Napoleon to light for him and then began to smoke while never taking his eyes from his partner’s despairing dark gaze. 

”So Napoleon.  Are you cured yet?” 

”Not fair, Illya,” 

”Whatever...” Illya inhaled deeply.  “But have you taken the antidote?” 

”I don’t have it.”  He started walking back to the Endymion taking Illya along with a light hand on his shoulder.  “And anyway.  What makes you think I’ll take it?” 

”Because you love me too much not to.”  Trust Illya to encapsulate his hours of soul searching into one sentence.  “And anyway,” he said pointing out an angle that had not occurred to Napoleon.  “Think about it.  It will never be the same again now.  You will always wonder when you see me whether what you are feeling is true or just a symptom.”  It was a shocking suggestion. 

”I have always loved you,” Napoleon whispered now certain, beyond doubt, of the truth of these words. 

 “Perhaps, perhaps not.  We will see,” Illya threw the cigarette into the gutter.  When he looked up, the older man saw a sadness in Illya’s eyes that had not been there in almost a year. 

Once again Amina was waiting for them in the hotel guest lounge.  She was standing by the window watching for them, watching the rain and stroking a black cat that stretched lazily on the back of an armchair.  A second black and grey cat dozed by the gas fire. 

Napoleon closed the umbrella and leaned it against the hallway wall.  “Who are these guys?” he asked. 

”The two cats from THRUSH HQ.  We found them hanging around the warehouse waiting for supper.”  The manager says they can move in here. 

Illya crouched down to scratch the little black and grey creature’s ear.  “Are these the Project Gabriel cats?” 

”Just good friends as far as I can tell.”  She scooped the black cat into her arms.  “This one looks a bit vulcan don’t you think?  So we called him Spock and that one Kirk.” 

Napoleon shook his head and said in his best second-in-command voice.  “The day wasn’t completely wasted then?” 

”Sorry, Napoleon.  I do have something else for you.”  She nodded to a small black box on the mantelpiece. 

”That it?” he asked as Illya picked it up and looked inside. 

”Yes.  You need to inject yourself.”  She hesitated and then said.  “Mr Waverly has ordered me to watch you do it.” 

”Boy, he’s not taking any chances.” 

They heard the chat and laughter of the other agents coming across the road.  Amina said, “Look, let’s go upstairs.  None of the others know anything about this.” 

Jumping out of Amina’s arms Spock curled beside Kirk by the fire laying a sleek black paw on his back. 

.... 

Napoleon’s room was hardly big enough for one person let alone three.  Amina stood by the door looking from one sad face to the other and quickly realised that she shouldn’t be there whatever her orders were.  “Guys, I’ll be next door.  Just tell me what you decide.” 

”No,” said Illya who seemed to have sobered up.  “We have to do this properly.  Mr Waverly needs to be sure or we are definitely out of a job.” 

Napoleon, who felt himself turning slowly to water, found it hard to believe that Illya could be so calculating. 

Illya took off his jacket and then helped Napoleon off with his.  Then he enfolded him in his arms and held him.  It was first time that he had knowingly done anything of the sort in the presence of a third person.  Amina watched awed at the love she was witnessing.  Napoleon found Illya’s lips and kissed him but soon, too choked to continue, he laid his head on the black clad shoulder. 

”And I have always loved you Napoleon,” Illya whispered before letting him go.  His breath was scented with alcohol but his words were clear and distinct. 

Illya took the black box and opened it.  It contained a vial of clear liquid and all the equipment needed to administer an injection.  He sat on the floor cross-legged and began to draw it up.  Amina, noticing a fine tremor in his hands, slid down next to him and taking the vial and syringe from him continued to draw it up herself.  Napoleon, fearing his knees would give way, sank down opposite Illya. 

When the injection was ready Amina handed it to Napoleon and he looked down at it blankly as if it were an object he couldn’t identify. Then he raised his head to gaze into the warmer place that was his partner’s eyes.  He noticed that Illya’s hair had fallen awry during his evening out and without thinking he reached over and ran his fingers through the fine gold to straighten it.  He wondered if this was the last time he would ever want to do this.  He couldn’t cope with that thought. 

”Illya, I can’t do this.”  He said, at last finding his voice.  “We can go somewhere together, tonight.  I’ve got plenty of money.  There are places where even the KGB couldn’t find you.” 

Illya gestured to the syringe.  “And shall we take this with us.  Just in case curiosity gets the better of us?  Be realistic Napoleon - please.”  Illya’s own voice cracked a little then and he rubbed his hand across his eyes. 

He gently took the syringe from Napoleon and put it on the floor between them.  Then he rolled up one of his lover’s sleeves and with cotton wool and antiseptic he cleaned an area on the inside of his arm.  Napoleon watched the curiously intimate procedure, unresisting.  Illya picked up the syringe and holding the arm in his free hand he administered the injection.  Then handing the syringe to Amina he allowed himself to be gathered into Napoleon’s arms. He listened to the gentle convulsions of the strong body as Napoleon began to sob. 

 

Act four

Two gay cats

 

The next morning Illya found himself in Napoleon’s bed alone.  He was woken by the sound of a hot water heater exploding on.  Bloody Endymion would have needed sedation to get any sleep in this place.  His head hurt. 

He vaguely remembered being on the floor at the foot of the bed and falling into an alcoholic sleep still in Napoleon’s arms.  He cursed himself for doing so.  He remembered half waking as Napoleon lifted him into bed and remembered also that Napoleon had placed no kiss on his lips or caress on his cheek before he left the room. 

That would teach him.  That would teach him to put Napoleon to the test.  That would teach him to expect Napoleon to resist even a chemical reaction in his love.  He should have expected this.  Considering their history he really should have seen this coming. 

He remembered Christmas day a year ago, after his first encounter with Madam Chabrol, when Napoleon had taken him back to his apartment to recover.  It was only as much as any partner would do for the other but something had been different on that evening.  He remembered the gentle sensuality of Napoleon’s touch as he undressed him and helped him to bathe but also the confusion that constantly shimmered across his eyes. 

That had been only two weeks after Tokyo and yet he had allowed himself to take what happened the following day as a miracle, a long-treasured dream come true.  His UNCLE training should at least have alerted him to the possibility of another explanation.  When Napoleon abruptly dropped him shortly after, he blamed himself for pushing his famously heterosexual partner further than he would normally contemplate and accepted that Napoleon could never love him. 

Napoleon himself showed every sign of having come to the same acceptance.  Resisting the direction his emotions were pulling him in at every stage.  Even going so far as to resign from UNCLE to get away from him.  But after Siberia when Napoleon beautifully gave up all resistance his confidence had grown.  He had passed from disbelief to delight and finally he became secure.  Again, without asking any of the questions he should have. 

And where had this sense of security come from?  He asked himself as he wandered into the bathroom and looked at his tired and hungover face in the mirror.  Certainly not from anything in his life before Napoleon.  OK his grandmother loved him but that was basically her job.  He examined the crescent shaped scar, now faded and indistinct, that Vulcan had given him.  Even his army lover might have cared something for him.  But he took the first opportunity he had to transfer out.  No.  His confidence in Napoleon’s love had sprung from Napoleon’s love.  And that, Illya now knew, was a deception from the start.  He should have known better. 

He undressed and stepped into the shower imagining the scene where Napoleon would peel off his clothes and climb in with him.  But he didn’t and what’s more cold water came out of the shower in a taunting trickle.  The English just didn’t get plumbing. 

He dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his waist.  He shaved with Napoleon’s razor and in a small sentimental gesture he put on a splash of Napoleon’s aftershave so that he could carry him with him today.  Finally he picked up his clothes and crossed the hall into his own room.  He found it empty and his bed unslept in. 

He assumed that his suspension was now lifted so, pulling a suit out of the wardrobe, he decided to go into work.  Anyway he didn’t want to listen to Napoleon (wherever he was) telling him that he was unable to love him anymore and the last year had all been a misunderstanding. 

As he left his room Amina’s door opened and Napoleon came out.  He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes but they were in a dishevelled state as if put on again after being discarded.  You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what had happened. 

”Catching up on lost time Napoleon?” he asked acidly.  Then bit his tongue when he saw the red rings around Napoleon’s eyes and the darkness within.  Napoleon did not reply but crossed wearily into his own room. 

On the way downstairs Illya met Amina.  She was dressed in a bathrobe and carrying a cup of tea in each hand. 

”He’s back in his own room,” he advised her dryly and didn’t wait for her to answer. 

Kirk and Spock looked up from the plate of bacon they were sharing and watched Illya leave the hotel. 

.... 

He drove out to the old warehouse at East India docks which THRUSH had used as their London Headquarters and immediately he arrived he knew something was wrong.  He had expected to see a buzz of UNCLE activity - the twenty four hour guard at the very least - but instead all was silence.  He got out of his car and took out his communicator.  Just before a sharp blow to the head knocked him unconscious. 

When he came to he was, inevitably, tied up on a cold floor.  When his vision clarified itself he saw he was beside a cracked window in an office.  He recognised the office.  He had cracked the window himself.  He was inside the apparently reclaimed THRUSH HQ. 

Damn.  Today was just getting better.  And furthermore he had a whole new kind of headache to enhance his hangover. 

Finally fully conscious he realised he was not alone in the room. 

Lying across a desk, supporting her head with a long, pale arm, her close cropped hair turned brilliant white and wearing a silver dress was Archangel.  Still alive a year on.  Not bad for kill-or-be-killed THRUSH.  Her dress glinted in the bright morning light so that Illya had to squint to see her properly. 

When she saw he was awake she slid gracefully off the desk and approached him.  Crouching she ran a caressing finger along his cheekbone and then, resting it under his chin, she tipped his face up to hers.  “Such a pretty face,” she breathed. 

Standing, she moved away from him to fold herself elegantly into a chair.  “Now Illya Kuryakin, tell me.  What have you people done with my cats?” 

”What have you done with my colleagues?” he returned coolly. 

She nodded at the Thames running deep and dirty outside the window. 

”And why aren’t I in there?” 

”Because,” she said, crossing her legs.  “I need a hostage while we clear our belongings out.  And also,” she purred.  “As you know, I do find it extremely hard to kill you.” 

”Yes I do know.”  Illya remembered the last time they met when she had allowed him to escape.  “But I thought you would have overcome that difficulty when I blew up your Siberian headquarters.” 

”Oh that,” she said airily.  “Yes, that did try my patience I’ll admit.  But I didn’t take it personally.  After all you’ve got to earn your little UNCLE brownie points somehow I expect.  Anyway I thought you had something of the sort in mind that’s why I....made good my escape.”  She flashed a brilliant smile.  “Betcha glad about that?” 

He shifted uncomfortably against his ropes.  “Not right at this minute no.” 

”Oh Illya, Mr Solo would never have been so ungallant.  How is that square jaw of his by the way?”  When she got an icy glare for an answer she rolled her eyes.  “You’re no fun anymore.  Well at least tell me where my cats are?” 

”The gay ones you mean?  They’re doing a lot better than I am.”  She looked at him quizzically and then she brightened. 

”Oh! You enjoyed my joke.  I’m so pleased.” 

He looked at her sharply.  “What joke?  What do you mean?” 

”My Project Gabriel joke.  You must have found it, I left it in an obvious enough place.  I leave files around like that all the time, you see, because you never know which UNCLE agent is going to be poking about where they shouldn’t be.” 

Then she noticed Illya’s expression.  “You did fall for it.  Wild! Has Solo taken the antidote?” 

”Yes, why?” 

”I never dreamed....” her smile vanished.  “It’s a lethal dose.  The lab guys put in a bucket full of chemicals so no one would ever find the fab new poison we’ve developed lurking beneath the surface.  It was a cert he would take it.  The great Napoleon Solo wouldn’t want any one to think he was less than a man.” 

”Let me out of here Archangel,” Illya began struggling against his ropes. 

”Sorry Illya, can’t do that.  Not this time.” 

”If you do I won’t let my colleagues kill you when they arrive.” 

”They’ve already arrived.  We’re completely surrounded.  But luckily we know some secret underground escape routes.  So it’s hooray for our side.”  She glanced at the clock on the wall.  “Oh, look at the time.  No rest for the ‘you know who’.  Darling, it’s been a blast.” 

Illya froze as she pulled a tiny silver gun out of her boot.  “Such a pretty face,” she murmured regretfully.  She levelled the gun at Illya’s head and was leaning closer to fire when the window smashed into a thousand pieces as Amina swung through it.  She had shot Archangel dead almost before she hit the ground.  She began to untie Illya. 

”Where’s Napoleon?” he demanded of her, on his feet and pulling off his ropes. 

”Back at the hotel.  He wasn’t feeling too good.” 

He pulled her communicator from lord knows where she kept it and put it in her hands.  “Get on to whoever analysed the antidote.  Something in it is going to kill Napoleon.  If it hasn’t done already.”  She snapped the pen open. 

”Get him to UNCLE HQ.  I’ll get it sorted.” 

... 

When he reached the Endymion he found Napoleon sitting in the guest lounge with Kirk on his lap.  Spock was watching them suspiciously from across the room.  Napoleon was deathly pale but he opened his eyes and turned his head as the door opened.  Illya was instantly at his feet. 

”How are you feeling?” 

”OK.  Touch of flu I think.”  His voice was rasping and he accepted a drink of water that Illya put to his lips.  “What is it, Illya?” 

”You’ve had a lethal dose of poison,” Illya explained gently.  “It was in the antidote.  But you’re going to be fine.  Amina’s working on the cure.” 

”A lethal dose, huh?  That sounds pretty serious.”  He reached for Illya’s hand.  “I know what it looked like, but I didn’t sleep with Amina last night.” 

”I don’t care. It doesn’t matter now.” 

”Yes it does.  I want to tell you,” Napoleon struggled to speak.  “I went to seduce her.  Just to see how it felt.  See if anything was different.  But then she had to listen to me talking about you all night.” 

”Hush Napoleon.  It’s all right.” 

”Nothings changed, thank God it didn’t work.” 

”Listen to me.  There was no Project Gabriel.  There was no antidote.  It was all a trap.” 

”Ah,” Napoleon smiled grimly.  “We fell right into it as well.” 

”Not you love.  I did.  I made you take it.  I suppose I just couldn’t believe that you...” 

”Damn stubborn Russian.  Now do you believe me?” 

Illya began to ease Napoleon out of the chair scattering the little cat. 

”Yes, Napoleon I do.” 

 

Somewhere in New York City 

”Nobody does it better,” thought Illya lazily giving in to a moment of pride as, back in UNCLE New York, he watched Napoleon briefing Section Two on the intelligence gained following the liquidation of THRUSH London.  Mr Waverly allowed his second-in-command to take the meeting and he fielded the questions with expertise, confidence and humour. 

When Mr Waverly noticed Napoleon playfully wink at Illya as the session came to a close he determined that, all things considered, it would be better for all concerned if he simply ignored it.

 

End

 

July 1999

 


End file.
